A Christmas Miracle
by Tsume Yuki
Summary: Tom hated Christmas Day, it was always the same. Except that one time it wasn't. ONESHOT


**A Christmas Miracle**

x

December 25th. To most children, it represented a time of family togetherness, of presents that would be exchanged and over all, happy times and glad tidings. And yet, for one building within London, for the children that lived at Wools Orphanage, it would only mean perhaps a few slices of turkey upon their plate, donated by some rich businessman that was trying to make a good impression upon the public.

Tom hated the day with a passion, and as it was currently the 24th of December, his most hated day was soon to be upon him.

It was seven o'clock at night, and a winter storm was raging outside, howling and battering against the thin panels of the window. The air inside the room was frigid, the kind of cold that sent children and adults alike running for their thickest blankets. And yet there he was, curled up around the only rags that the orphanage had been able to spare.

He could remember what happened every year, he'd wish desperately for a thicker blanket, and then suddenly one would be there. It didn't change the fact that every morning he'd have it brutally torn from him, for the thicker blanket to be presented to a younger and 'more needy' child. The blanket was almost always gone by the next day. And if it wasn't, it was soon on fire. He never even thought about wanting to get rid of it either, instead he only blindly hoped that no one else would be allowed what he couldn't have.

.

He couldn't remember falling asleep, but he without a doubt remembered waking up. Because there were screams, children shouting at the very tops of their voice in a time that was far too early in the morning.

Growling ever so slightly under his breath, Tom sat up, blindly reaching about for a match to light a candle. It was by far too early to be waking up, seeing as there was no natural light whatsoever been offered up by the outside world. They were all going to pay.

Of course, that thought flew right out of the window when he finally got the candle lit. It's orange glow warmed the room, lighting up his bed, the window, and most importantly, all of the oddly shaped packages upon the floor.  
Tom's breath actually caught in his throat as he looked down at his floor, which was covered with all sorts of differently sized, wrapped gifts. His mouth worked wordlessly for a second before he leapt to his feet, fully awake now.

Ignoring the cold, the dark-haired boy stuck his head out of the door, looking around and taking in all the orphans in the corridor. It seemed he wasn't the only one that had suffered an invasion within his room, though the other children had all but ripped apart the intruders. They were wielding all sorts of toys, running up and down the corridor, stuffing their faces with what looked astonishingly like chocolate. Even Mrs Cole was stood there, with some kind of awed look upon her face, wearing a brand new dress and set of pearls.

He didn't catch her eye, instead slowly closing his door and turning back to his presents, pushing down the anticipation inside of him. Who was to say this was not a cruel joke and all his boxes would be empty? Then he paused, because attached to the back of his door, was a letter. He approached cautiously, reaching out a tentative hand for the parchment before carefully sliding the contents out.

'_Tom,_

_First of all, yes, I left all the presents. And no, you won't know who I am. Not for a while if at all. You're a little different than the rest of the orphans, as I'm sure you've already figured out. We're the same in that respect, which is why I even decided to do this at all.  
I never got any Christmas presents till I was eleven, so I know how it feels. I got some for the rest of the orphanage because otherwise, they'd have taken yours away and redistributed them fairly and among the rest of the kids. And I couldn't let that happen, simply because your presents are a little different than the rest. Most of them, well, they can only really be used by people like us.  
Those ones you won't be able to use till later on though, for now, you'll just have to stick with the muggle half of the presents. _

_Merry Christmas,_'

And that was it. There was nothing more to the letter.

Tom reread it several times, but much to his frustration, he didn't understand it any better. So instead, he placed it carefully upon the bedside table as he began to open his presents, starting with the smaller ones first.

A good handful were sweets, chocolates and other expensive things he'd never been able to try. Though a few did catch his eye because he'd never even heard of them. Especially the chocolate frogs which, he was very much shocked, and very much delighted to find, moved upon opening them. So whoever had gotten him the gifts really was just like he was. Had these powers. And there were things, objects, that they could use.

He was so excited he tore into the biggest present there. And was surprised to see a huge trunk waiting beneath the paper. Only, no matter how hard he pulled and fought with it, he was unable to open the lid. And as annoying as if was, he just accepted the fact it was one of the things that'd open later on.

Regardless, the mysterious gift giver seemed to know him well, because he'd been given a good load of books that the matron would probably have said was beyond his understanding. As if. And there were books about subjects he'd never heard of, along with some fiction to read.

At least he wouldn't be bored for a while.

.

It wasn't until July that Tom really got the full implications of what he'd been given. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore walked into his room and began explaining about Hogwarts. And Tom demanded the truth for a second, before pausing all of a sudden.

Because there'd been the lightest of clicks from behind them both and his breath caught in his throat.

Completely disregarding the man that'd entered his room, Tom made his way over to the trunk that'd remained closed since December, almost laughing. It was open. And it'd opened right as he was told about Hogwarts. Amazing. He passed by the two other items he'd gotten that made no sense but he was eternally thankful for. The strange bag that went over both his shoulders, that seemed so much bigger on the inside than it was on the out, and even if he dropped rocks in it all day, it still remained light as a feather. Then there was the odd box that had remained on his bedside cabinet since he figured out what it did. Which was to present him with one, big hot meal everyday, without fail. He'd never been so well fed before.

And now finally, the last thing was available to him.

"Where did you get that trunk Tom?"  
Pausing as he reached for the lid, Tom turned to look at the older man before frowning.

"It was a Christmas gift." He was almost hesitant to it hand over, but Tom carefully dug the worn sheet of parchment from his jacket pocket, hesitantly holding it out to the older man. As Dumbledore took it, Tom quickly turned his attention back to the trunk, inspecting the multitude of different levels to the lid. There'd been another note, back in his bag, that explained the trunk had sever different levels, and though the use of magic -the power Tom had- each section didn't clash with the other. And it was heavily warded. Whatever that meant.

Slowly, he lifted the first lid and was surprised to see a good collection of clothes. Though there wasn't just jumpers, shirts and trousers for his everyday wear; there were pyjamas too, shoes, socks and most importantly, Hogwarts robes. He could feel Dumbledore's watchful eyes all but burning into his back, but Tom was far too focused upon his trunk, as he brought the lid back down and lifted up a different section.

This time there were piles of books, and after a quick look at the sheet he'd been given with the letter, he knew they were the text-books he'd be needing this year. Along with every one for the next seven years, it appeared. Excitement ran through him, but he wasn't surprise to find only one more section of the trunk unlocked, another seven levels inaccessible to him right now.

Slowly, he lifted that lid, savouring the moment before peering in. There was a new looking broomstick, probably for flying on, in one corner of the bigger than it should be trunk. A wand, just like what Dumbledore had used to set his wardrobe alight, and the second he laid a hand on it, he knew it was his. It felt like home. There was a weathered looking piece of parchment, with a note on how to use it, explaining that it'd been made by his mysterious gift-givers father and that he better use it and take care of it well, because it was only on lend to him.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered, pressing the tip of his wand to the parchment. He watched in fascination as he was offered an introduction to the 'Marauder's Map', by '_Messrs Moody, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs_', and that '_Mister Flametip_' had made revisions to the map. And there it was, a map with moving foot-prints. If the way Dumbledore's breath caught over his shoulder, it was a map of not just any place, but Hogwarts itself. Apparently, the old man had never seen anything like it. This would put him on level ground with all the children that'd been raised in the wizarding world for sure.

"Mischief managed," he murmured and the map disappeared, replaced by empty parchment again. Finally, he reached for the last thing in the trunk, a little bundle of something wrapped up in a white cloth with a note on it.

'_It was your mother's, she sold it for a pittance when she was pregnant with you. Luckily enough, I was able to get it before it's buyer realized what it actually was. I'm sure you'll be able to find out just who it belonged to. Make sure not to tell anyone you can talk to snakes. Not yet._'

And Tom carefully unwrapped it after making sure Dumbledore hadn't been reading over his head. Sat within the swash of blankets was a small golden chain, with a decorative pendant resting upon it. From above Tom's head, Dumbledore's eyes widened, shooting to the disguised figure within the room with a question in his gaze.

Sat upon the floor, hidden beneath an invisibility cloak and clutching at a time-turner, Harry James Potter pressed a finger to his lips and smiled.

* * *

**Merry Christmas people.**

**Tsume  
xxx**


End file.
